Doors and Demons
by Corralero
Summary: Sanctuary. The ancient rules: No blood shall be spilt, no violence take place within. When the sanctuary of Maxwell Church is shattered, it falls to Duo to fight to preserve those he loves.
1. The Doors

**Doors and Demons b****y Corralero **

**Chapter One: The Doors**

The door to any building is essential, most of all to a church. It provides access, true, but the doors to a church should always be more, offering an avenue, an escape, into the peace, the quietness and the healing. They should be something of a shelter, the curve of the arches and lintel hinting at strength and protection. Sanctuary. The ancient name for a church. No blood should be spilt, no violence take place within a church, one of the few places where God and the care of individual souls came first…

Maxwell Church: Perhaps 80 years old. A quiet, rundown church, ready with gentle welcoming comfort to the scum of L2, poorest of the poorest colony. Attendance was pitiful, irregular and erratic with few regulars. The priest didn't mind. He simply smiled, blessing and welcoming all who came through the doors, and even if they didn't return they remained in his prayers, each unnamed face blessed each day.

One day those who came through the doors held guns. Filthy bandanas held back long hair from wild harsh faces, from mouths that shouted crude curses in the holy place, that made rough demands. Father Maxwell was held at gunpoint in the vestry of his own church. The rebels had come.

"But, my son…"

Father Maxwell's gentle reasoning fell on deaf ears. The church was to become a secret base for rebel activities, an ideal place for bomb and armament manufacturing. Appalled at the prospect of such violence in God's church, Father Maxwell shook his head firmly despite the gun at his temple.

"I am afraid that it an impossible request."

His erect posture, stern face and strident posture almost made a martyr of him. Then the door was flung back and Sister Helen was dragged in, surrounded by hoots and catcalls. Her hair was tumbling down her back, habit ripped and pretty eyes bright with fear as a brute of a man twisted her delicate wrists in his grip, swinging her around to face Father Maxwell with a knife laid across her throat. She was trembling. Sharp eyes saw his fear, and sneering voices repeated the request, and defeated Father Maxwell bowed his head in submission. They were a people of peace and love, not made for war or defiance.

But the brute holding Sister Helen was not yet finished. The men hadn't had a bit of skirt in ages. Rough lips caressed the delicate white of an exposed neck as Sister Helen cried out in distress and fear.

A small slender figure shot out from the shadows, smashing into the brute, winding him to the tall man's surprise. This was not a child of peace and love, but one raised by war and living by defiance. The boy was small but as hard as nails, years of rough living honing instincts to one of deadly survival. But it was no match for brute strength and latent cruelty. Large hands grasped slender arms, twisting viciously up even as the boy fought like a wild cat. The leader roughly yanked the small chin up until violet eyes met cold yellow. Then the hand was swiftly yanked away with a curse as sharp white teeth drew blood. A snarl of rage replaced the curse and the bitten hand returned in a violent blow that sent the boy skidding across the floor to rest at Father Maxwell's feet.

The slam of the oak door and the harsh grate of the lock sliding home informed a shaken Father Maxwell that he was now a prisoner in his own church.

Sighing, Father Maxwell knelt by the dazed ten year-old's side. Groggily the boy shook his head, wincing as he pressed a hand to a cut along his cheekbone left by the leader's heavy signet ring. The priest hadn't even know Duo was in the building, he had hoped it was not so. When the orphan had failed to be adopted, Sister Helen and himself had decided to take the wild street boy in. They had seen beyond the apparent and had, had they admitted it, been captured by Duo's warm, lively personality and positive approach to life. But they had allowed him a certain degree of freedom, realising that the streetlife had been ingrained in his being almost from birth. One could not change what one was instantaneously. Change was gradually occurring but they still let him roam, knowing he would always come back.

Gently Father Maxwell pulled the small frame into his lap and Duo leant his chestnut head into the comforting shoulder.

"That hurt." He muttered

"Thank you, Duo."

Sister Helen had crawled across to the pair and raised a shaky hand to brush aside the unruly fringe, only half tamed by the long braid.

"Sister! You ok?" Duo detached himself from the priest, looking at the nun, his violet eyes fierce, "I wont let them hurt ya."

"No," she smiled, masking her fears for his bravery "I know you wont."

The two adults leant back against the wall, exchanging silent glances over the top of the small boy as Duo rested his sore head on Sister Helen's shoulder. It was a dangerous situation, they both knew. Thankfully the few orphans they had under their control were out visiting potential foster homes this weekend, which left only the two of them and Duo in the church. Father Maxwell tilted his head back, slid his eyes shut and silently began to pray. It was going to be a hard few days.

To be continued...

* * *

Author's Note: Just a thank you note, really, to those who have reviewed my stories so far. Thanks for all the great comments - to be honest, I've been staggered that people liked them so much! Anyway, hope you all enjoy this story. I know it's a bit short, but I wanted to make it into a chaptered story and I'm still working on being able to write alot - I have no idea how some people churn it all out! Thanks again, Corralero 


	2. The Demon

**Chapter Two**

He was right. Three hours later the door had been unlocked and they had been roughly hauled out into the main body of the church. They had stared around in dismay at the destruction caused. Alters, statues and benches had been shoved back and smashed up to make more room, the men were drinking out of communion chalices, their irrelevance causing Father Maxwell to shudder. There must have been about 80 rebels in the church. These were outlaws, desperate men willing to do anything to bring L2 under their control. They placed the three captives under armed guard, and they were left to watch helplessly as the destruction of the church continued and as the rebels began dragging kids up off the streets as a form of slave labour.

The week had been hardest on Duo, Father Maxwell decided, as he felt the small figure next to him stir. Duo had slept cuddled up to the priest's strong form, head resting on his chest. The man winced as he caught sight of the vicious beatings the boy had undergone. They had all been hit or kicked in some way or other, but the rebels, encouraged by the leader whose personal dislike of Duo, made certain by the bite to his hand and intensified by Duo's defiant nature, had made a game of the youngster, despite the efforts of the nun and priest to intervene. They would gradually crowd in on him until he was encircled. Then the raucous laughter and jeers would begin, cruel taunts and curses. The game would continue for hours as the small boy was shoved from man to man, kicked, beaten and slapped until he would collapse. Duo's rebellious side had emerged in full force. He was tough enough to withstand the beatings – clearly the boy had decided better him than Father Maxwell or Sister Helen, or even the other kids. And he refused to back down, fighting back as viciously as he could, until he earnt the cruel title of Maxwell's Demon. He could never stop his mouth either, Father Maxwell thought with a wince, his wicked, clever retorts and tongue earning him more pain.

* * *

They were looking at her again. She could sense it. Swallowing nervously Sister Helen tugged at her habit in a futile attempt to cover herself up more effectively. The children were crying and she hastened to shush them, despite the fact it drew more attention to herself. The children needed comfort. That she could give.

A strong hand landed on her wrist, then on her waist, tightening as she gasped and began to struggle. A leering mouth drew closer, forming words she was unable to understand as the world around her began to slow down in panic. Then the hand snapped back and the mouth widened, spitting out a curse.

"Shit!"

Duo, her little Duo, stood between her and her tormentors, eyes glinting dangerously, fists clenched, but so young, so small, so hurt, scarce able to stand…

"Leave her alone!"

"Why you little bastard!"

Duo didn't cry out as hands grabbed harshly at his braid, yanking him forward. He slid her a look, warning her to get back, get out of the way, stay quiet, pleading with her. It was hard to remember sometimes that he was only 10.

"What's goin' on here?"

The leader caught Duo roughly as he was shoved forward, twisting his arms until Duo cried out in pain. The leader's mouth pressed close to Duo's ear snarling softly, "My little demon again, trying to protect your Sister Helen. We're going to have her, boy, don't you worry. You're not going to stop us. She's gonna scream…"

"Shut up!" Duo lashed out trying to kick, but the leader held him too tight, twisting savagely until something gave way with a crack and Duo screamed.

"Yes, just like that. Now unless you pipe down and shut up, we'll be having her all the sooner, understand?" Wide eyes, Duo nodded. Smiling, the leader brought his mouth closer, hot breath skating over the smooth bruised skin. Duo shuddered, trying to move away but the iron grip on his arm tightened until he moaned. "What do they see in you anyway? A filthy little streetrat taken in by the church coz no one else would have you? Worthless scum." He yanked Duo's head back. "Keep your eyes open" The eyes opened, revealing a torrent of anger, abhorrence, fear, pain. "What did you do, huh? How'd ya get caught? Answer me!" He spat as Duo gasped in pain as fingers dug painfully into his jaw, then caressed his cheek. "I was a thief, stole antidotes outta the labs. They found it in a raid." The leader's yellow eyes narrowed in thought. "A thief? Could you steal a mobile suite?" This might well be the answer to his problems.

* * *

"No!" Father Maxwell's voice rang out "No, you cannot ask this of him. It is too dangerous!" A rifle butt smashed into his face. Duo and Sister Helen cried out. Dragging Duo roughly along, the leader strode to the priest's prone form, flinging the boy down next to him then yanking him back as he reached out to touch the priest. Crouching down, the leader looked into the priest's dazed eyes "Of course its too dangerous, why else do you think I'd send a worthless rat, rather than one of my men?"

"Duo is not worthless" Father Maxwell replied with conviction, "He never was, and he never will be". The leader sneered.

"If I steal the suite, will ya let us go?" Violet eyes burnt into him, strength and desperation at their core. The leader considered, he needed a mobile suite very badly, and promises were made to be broken…"Yes, I'll let you go, with a few conditions."

"What conditions?" Sister Helen asked warily. His hungry eyes raked her form; "Lets work them out closer to the time, hmm?"

"An' ya'll leave Sister Helen alone until I get back?" The fear was palpable, it was delicious. He pulled the boy closer until their noses almost touched; "Until you get back." He whispered.

Suddenly Duo's eyes narrowed with cold rage, "If you touch her, I will kill you." Then the boy had twisted out of his grasp and was gone, leaving the leader feeling surprisingly shaken by the look he had seen in the young thief's eyes. He turned to look at the nun and priest. "Start praying your little demon makes it back, otherwise you'll be cursing the day he was born" he spat, striding off to the vestry doors.


	3. The End

**Chapter Three**

He was running, fast. The world around him was tinted a dull yellow from the dingy streetlamps above. None of that mattered. The world around him had shrunk to his field of vision, his senses and his mind. _Run, run, run. Twist, dodge. Pain. No, ignore the pain. No time, just run. Keep moving, keep twisting. Breathe. _Sharp, short, panting breaths broke the uncanny silence of the streets. _Keep moving, keep running._ A sudden fall. The grey concrete rushed up to meet his tired body. _Get up, get up. Quick, quick, quick. UP! Pain. Force past it, push it aside, run through it._ Small fingers grasped metal links. Scuffed boots found a purchase as a lithe body nimbly climbed _up, up, up, then drop down. Freeze, listen, straining. Control breathing. In, out, in, out. Standing hurts. Ignore it. Slip into the shadows, like a demon, like a thief. Scanning, searching. Please, God, find one soon. There!_ Confusion, noise, shouting. One, two, three, four guards changing. Lights flashing on, the shadows vanished. The noise built to a crescendo.

"Look, sarge, it's a kid."

"A streetrat. Open fire!"

So they had seen him. _Run, twist, change direction._ A bullet screamed behind him, ringing as it pierced the metal walls of the hanger. He was going to die. The fury that had sparkled at the church blossomed inside of him. A rage against the soldiers, against the rebels, against the leader with his cruel yellow eyes. For the cold contempt with which they viewed his life and the lives of others. For the threat they posed against Sister Helen, Father Maxwell and the sanctuary of the church. He would not die for them. His small jaw gritted with determination as he pushed his body fast, scarce thinking, moving on pure instinct. His braid whipped behind him as he swiftly scaled the Leo before him and slipped inside.

His young body was trembling with rage as his eyes lit with the fire of battle. Settled in the cockpit his hands hit the switches, guided by instinct, intelligence and fate. The Leo came to life, roaring into action and swinging around to face the threat assembling across his only exit point. Guns locked down on to targets and spat bullets from the muzzles of old outdated suites and Duo was once again struck by the cheapness of his life. He slammed his foot down, sending the Leo hurtling forward, then spinning swiftly to the left as his guns swiftly sighted on the enemy. The pilots blinked in confusion at the abrupt change in direction performed by the Leo's pilot, a mere streetrat, and were caught unguarded by the hail of death that raked their mobile suites.

Duo threw the Leo forward, the flush of victory rapidly leaking away as apprehension encroached once more. Something was wrong. It had been so easy. Too easy. The task had scarce challenged his abilities as a thief, the lack of guards ensuring…the lack of guards…Then Duo's anxious eyes saw a thick column of smoke rising. And in his heart Duo knew.

* * *

"NO!"

What his heart had known, he had refused to accept. The Leo had been driven at a breakneck, reckless pace, screeching to a standstill as the unabated horror of what he saw slammed into Duo. Maxwell Church was a smouldering half ruin, the spire and central body of the church utterly destroyed. Fire licked around the old timber doors, which still stood, complete with the arch and lintel, looking incongruous and lonely by themselves. Maxwell's Demon threw himself from the Leo and flung himself through the doors, mindless of the flames. Once inside he cast his eyes around, frantically searching.

"No, oh no, please. Where are they? Where are they?"

His wide eyes took in the carnage, the twisted bodies of both rebels and children. Dominance and control no longer mattered now. Death was a great equaliser. Then he glimpsed what he sought. Father Maxwell lay silently by the charred remains of his beloved alter. Duo scrambled up next to him, timidly shaking the solid shoulder that had so often supported him over the last year. The last shreds of the fighter that had killed in the cockpit of the Leo fell from his face. The Duo Maxwell that knelt in the ruined church surrounded by the dead was, perhaps for the last time, all child.

"Father, Father Maxwell, please, wake up."

He looked into the serene face and didn't realise he was crying until a tear rolled down Father Maxwell's face. His heart leapt at the movement and slowly sank again as he realised the tear was his own. A sob fell from his lips as he curled into the broad shoulder like he had done just that very morning as the sun rose. Now the sun was dying and he somehow knew that he would never have that feeling of unconditional, illogical security again. Eternity passed and slowly he sat up again as a glint caught his eye. Father Maxwell's cross, ripped from his neck by the explosion that took his life, lay next to his body. A small hand crept out to retrieve it, tucking it away safely, as the other hand rose to trace shaky crosses upon the priest's forehead, lips and heart in a final blessing.

Then a weak moan stole across the still scene. Duo's head snapped around, as his eyes widened in shock.

"Sister Helen!"

She lay but a few feet from the priest. Slowly she opened her eyes and smiled up at the face above her, reaching up a slender, bloodied hand to cup the tear-streaked and bruised cheek. Guilt-ridden words were chocked him.

"Sister Helen, it's-it's my fault, isn't it? Coz I stole the Leo…"

"Shh…" she soothed him, feeling the tears trickle between her fingers, "Duo, my little Duo. It's not. I know it's not, and so did Father Maxwell. They arrived well before that."

He shook his head, a harsh sob of denial rising. "I should get help." He whispered, the reluctance of a child to leave his sanctuary sounding in his voice. She shook her head slowly, that sweet smile playing on her lips.

"No. It's too late for that. Duo, I'm going home!"

He saw the light and joy in her eyes and he tried desperately to be happy for her even as his soul keened its sorrow. He was going to be alone. Again. His throat tightened as he swallowed hard to hold back the tears.

The pain she felt dimmed in comparison to the pure excitement and certainty, but her peace was marred by one desperate regret. This beloved child, _her _beloved child was going to be alone. Again. So she gave him what she could. Her weakened fingers brushed back that unruly fringe as she looked into those beautiful eyes.

"We never really told you, did we? How much we loved you. How much _I _love you. And how proud I am of you. Oh, my heart could burst from the feeling! You protected us, Duo. You saved me. You should have seen the Father. I have never seen him so proud as he was of you. I love you so much, Duo Maxwell. Everything about you. Unconditionally. Even that wicked smile of yours. Don't ever forget that."

His breath stilled at the enormity of what she said, and he tried to smile for her for one last time. He tried, he really did, but the effort crumbled as he sobbed, "Please don't go."

She laughed, wincing as it turned into a cough. "I have to, he's calling me home. I'll be watching and praying, just like I always have." Her voice grew fainter and her eyes distant as the hand dropped from his face. He grasped it, realising she was slipping away and helplessly watched her face, struggling to say what was on his heart in time, panic fluttering as time trickled out.

"Wait!"

With a great effort she drew herself back, waiting just a little longer for him. He leaned closer, brushing his lips on her forehead in blessing.

"God bless ya, Sister. An' I know I never said it neither but I love ya, Sister, really I do. So much. I love Father Maxwell too. Will ya…" He stopped struggling to speak, "Will ya tell him? When ya see him?"

Her eyes held the promise as she smiled one last time, closed her eyes and was gone. There was still so much to say. Slowly he leant back from where he had sat, leaning over her body, drawing his hand away from where it had cradled her head, as the devastating sense of loss engulfed him, leaving him utterly blind to anything other than the grief. He never heard the commotion of returning army vehicles and mobile suites, nor the cries of warning as they found first the Leo and then himself. It was only much later that he realised that he realised the army had returned on account of his Leo. He had hardly been subtle in returning to Maxwell Church, and the troops having devastated the church had received the frantic SOS calls from their base and had returned to deal with the new threat. At the time, however, he was only aware suddenly of hands latching on to his slender shoulders, tearing him away from the nun's body. No! He didn't want to go. Not yet. Survival instinct kicked in and he began to fight, twisting like an eel in the iron grip.

"No! Gerroff me. I wanna stay, Get off!"

More hands joined in and violent curses assaulted his ears and he had a terrible sense of déjà vu as he stared desperately at Sister Helen's serene face, fighting viciously. Except her face wasn't contorted with fear, and the hands that held him weren't rebel hands but soldiers, although the difference was the same in his eyes, and there were no cold yellow eyes to mock him. Then he froze in shock, causing the soldiers to look at him uncertainly. For there across the way, cold yellow eyes did stare at him, but they no longer taunted. The lean face was a death mask of agony. He had been crushed by the falling masonry. There driven into his back, snapping his spine in two, was a stone gargoyle, its dragon's snout gaped wide as its bat-like wings arced upwards. It was an old friend, it's demon-like appearance as incongruous in a church setting as Duo himself sometimes felt. Duo had often climbed up to the roof to sit along side it, chatting away to his silent companion and admiring the view.

_Maxwell's Demon._

Duo's gaze shifted from the gargoyle back to the leader, following his outstretched hand which lightly brushed the tip of Sister Helen's foot. The soldier's looked on in alarm as a deathly grin stole across the handsome young face.

"I told you if you touched her I'd kill you." He whispered.

Then the hideous irony sank in and he began to laugh, a quiet eerie giggle that echoed softly around the ruined church. After that he resisted no more as they dragged him away, into the army containment van and drove away.

* * *

The soldiers remaining slowly examined their handiwork, some of them looking with pity at the youthfulness of some of the still bodies.

"Any survivors?" Inquired the squadron leader.

"None, sir," came the reply, "Nothing left but the old church doors and Maxwell's little demon."

**The End**

* * *

_**Author's Note:** Poor Duo! Wow, that's my first story completed that's actually longer than one chapter! Thanks to those who reviewed. I really appreciated the comments. Please review and let me know what you think. I'd love to hear which bits worked and how I could improve. Hope you enjoyed reading! Corralero_


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